Malady of Macabre
by Sainte Matthewe
Summary: Second in the 'Sole Survivor' series. Crawford contemplates his own sin of survival


**"Sole Survivor: Malady of Macabre"**

By Sainte Matthewe

Author's Note: As always, the usual disclaimers apply.  I'm just too lazy to list them all.  Warnings include some violence, perhaps some mild language, and ever-so-slight spoilers for the manga.  Comments, be they complements or complaints, are most definitely welcome~!  Enjoy!

***

            He had it book marked on his computer, the back issue of that faraway newspaper.  The cover story of the greatest tragedy that tiny Virginia town had ever seen appeared on his computer screen.  He didn't want to see that.  Even after ten years, it was too painful—too personal to read a second-hand account.  What he wanted were the obituaries, the beautiful ten-line tributes to the three special people whom he lost.

            A door opened behind him.  "What are you looking at?"  Schuldig leaned over him, and squinted at the screen. "Weather reports?"

            Crawford turned from his computer.  "No, volcano eruptions."  He silently thanked whatever perverse deity kept tabs on him for the fact the German couldn't read a word of English.

            Schuldig babbled on for a while, and Crawford returned his attention to the computer, his mind more on his task, rather than on the conversation.  After an absent, "Yeah, I'll look into it," he was alone, again.

            Ten years ago, to the day, the event described in those articles occurred.  It hardly seemed that long ago, for it still dominated his thoughts, and stole all the pleasure he might have seen.  And as clear as his vision was, nothing was as clear as those memories.         

            Fifteen, and a small-town hero.  If he had blond hair, he would have been the clichéd All-American youth.  Starting varsity quarterback, straight A's, and the head cheerleader—he had it all.  He was even descended from Old Money.  Or what passed for Old Money in the United States.

            Fifteen, and already, prestigious universities were vying for his attention, but as he sat on the couch, eyeing the journalist with the low-cut shirt, he pushed all thoughts of college from his mind.  The scandalously dressed journalist for once had no tales of foreign woe to tell in her sweet voice of false sympathy. Instead, she had a local one.  A tale of a deadly two-car crash, with only a sole survivor.  The newscast seemed very surreal, but utterly unimportant.  The boy started to channel surf.

            Crawford sighed, leaning back in his chair, and allowing his mind to travel that well-worn road.  Like his visions, that came more frequently now, there was no stopping it.

            The following evening, he was content, as he snuggled into the front seat of his father's car.  The prospects from the university were better than he expected and the dinner he just enjoyed with his parents, and little sister was better yet, and it was making him drowsy…

            He awoke in darkness, drowning in a sea of displaced déjà vu.  The car was stopped.  Slowly, he became aware of it, as something warm and wet seeped through his fingers.

            As he reached out, touching cold, crumpled metal, a bright white light stung his eyes.  "Ohmigod!  There's someone alive in here!" he heard someone exclaim while the light jiggled.  

            Slowly, he craned his head to regard his father behind the steering wheel—no, through the steering wheel.  Skull crushed by the collapsing roof, the thing that was his father was the source of the unnamable fluid.

            Oh, god.  If Dad looks that bad… What about Sissy and Momma?

            As he finished that disturbing thought, he felt himself gently lifted out of the twisted remains, pulled away from those he held dear.

            Two days later, he sat in the hospital room, gazing out at a day at odds with his inner gloom.  He was the sole survivor of a messy accident.  The only reason he had survived was the little nap he took, but if he hadn't agitated like hell to start looking at colleges… if he hadn't suggested that particular college on that particular day… maybe they'd still be here with him.

            That thought began to obsess him.  If I had done or known something different…

            "The change was subtle.  I never really noticed it."  Crawford shifted in his office chair, and was suddenly treated to a vision of Nagi eavesdropping at his door.  He would be overheard, but it didn't really matter.  Nagi didn't understand much English.  "But I began to see the results of each choice; I began to truly see the future.  And it isn't a good one."

**The Aftermath**: I wasn't planning on continuing the 'Sole Survivor' theme, but after reading a review for the original story, this one had to be written.  Anyways, a bit of an explanation as to what happened to Brad Crawford.  When asleep, the body is kind of like a baggie of water.  Ergo, if one is asleep during an accident, you're less likely to have serious injury.  Something similar to Crawford's story happened to someone I know.  He walked away, unharmed from a serious accident, simply because he was asleep.  Thank you for reading this.  Hope you enjoyed it. ~Sainte


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